Raced (4 page)

She’s so frustrated. Mission accomplished, buttons pushed. And now I have one feisty hellcat on my hands, and I bet sure as fuck she’s going to be fun to try and tame. Then again, why tame her? A few scratches never hurt anyone.

“You cheated. You-you-aaarrgh!”

“We never had time to outline any rules or stipulations,” I explain with a raise of my eyebrows and a shrug of my shoulders. “You were pulled away. That left everything as fair game.”

Those lips of hers that I want to taste fall open and then close again to only fall back apart. I pull my thoughts from what else I’d like them to open and close around.
Sweet Christ!
I force my mind to focus on the here and now and away from what exactly is under that dress. I push myself off the wall and step toward her.

I can’t resist.

“I guess I just proved you do in fact lose sometimes,
Ryles
.”

I have to touch her.

Irresistible.

Mine.

“I’m looking forward to our date, Rylee.”

I watch her eyes follow my fingers as they move a loose curl of hair from her cheek. I catch the slight hitch in her breath, and I know I’ve got her. Know it’s only a matter of time now.

The pull is just too great. Resistance is futile. I graze a thumb over her cheek, wanting to feel her skin. Needing to feel that spark of current that vibrates between us. “In fact, more than any other date I’ve had in a while.”

She leans her head back, my thumb still on her cheek, and “Oh God!” falls from her mouth in exasperation.

The sound of her sex-kitten voice turns my insides, calls to some part deep within me, and I don’t like it one bit. The only part of me that should be affected should be my dick and my mind counting the minutes until she’s beneath me.

Or on top of me. Beggars can’t be choosers and fuck if reverse cowgirl isn’t a mighty nice position.

See, Donavan? It’s the alcohol twisting things around making you think that feeling deep down is more than just the ache in your balls. C’mon, all you want is a quick, uncomplicated fuck and an attempt to tame the wildcat.

That’s it. Nothing else.

I swear.

Unease creeps through me at the thought of only having her once, and I force myself to stop thinking this fucking nonsense and grab the control back my dick has hijacked. I hear those words of hers echo through my mind, and I know exactly how to do it.

“Those words,
oh God
,” I mimic her and give in one last time to my need to touch her by running a finger down the side of her face. “Now I know exactly how you’ll sound when you say that while I’m buried deep inside of you.”

I love the look of shock that flashes across her face. Love the insolence in her expression as she lifts her chin and glares at me. Such a fucking turn on.

“Wow! You sure think a lot of yourself, don’t you, Ace?”

Shit!
She walked right into that one and I can’t resist. Just can’t fucking stop myself from pushing those buttons of hers one last time before I walk away and leave her wondering whose court the ball is really in. I slip my hands in my pocket and lean into her, the smile on my face suggesting exactly what I want to do with her. To her. For her.

“Oh, sweetheart,
there is definitely a lot of me to think about
.” I laugh softly, loving the look I’ve just put on her face. “I’ll be in touch.”

I forgo the urge to touch her one last time. Taste her one last time. And I force myself to turn around and walk away. To put one foot in front of the other when I’d much rather be dragging her back to that damn storage closet and taking exactly what I want.

The chance to claim her.

Game fucking on.

I walk out into the parking lot and thank fuck Sammy is already there or else I might be tempted to walk back inside. Because fuck yes her playing hard to get is a turn on, but experience has me wagering that given ten more minutes either I wouldn’t be going home alone or that storage closet just might have gotten some use.

Can’t say I have a losing track record.

I pull my phone from my pocket and laugh when I see the notifications blaring across my screen. Case in fucking point. I thumb through the ten texts from Raquel. Each one dirtier than the first.

Sweet Jesus I could use a good fuck tonight after all of that verbal foreplay and by the suggestions she’s sent to my phone, it’s gonna be a long, sweaty, sleepless night.

“Hey, Wood. Good night?” Sammy asks as I climb into the back of the Range Rover, fingers already untying my bowtie and undoing the noose of buttons closing my collar on my neck.

“You have no idea, Sammy,” I tell him and then laugh when my thoughts veer to how my evening has turned into the beginning of a good joke—
so a redhead, a brunette, and a blonde walk in a bar
—when I think of Bailey, Rylee, and Raquel.

He laughs and shakes his head, having been with me long enough that he knows how my life goes. Women willing for whatever I’m game for. Well except for the unexpected Ms. Thomas tonight.

Knowing what was beneath that dress has made it ten times harder to walk away without having her. Since when do I care what a woman’s wearing so long as it’s piled on the floor?

Normally I’d say she’s not worth my time, but I can’t remember the last time I had a challenge. Shit, women say the word no to me about as often as they keep their legs together at the knees.
Never
.

Christ, I should let it go. Write the check, Donavan. Leave her alone.

Don’t touch complicated
—that’s my default. So why in the fuck do I want to play with fire? Light the match to her flame and see how hot she gets.

Damn it to Hell.

I’m just horny. Pump primed and turned on from her defiance. I’ll lose myself in Raquel tonight—every tight fucking inch of her—and realize I’m being stupid. That I shouldn’t opt for complicated when I can have easy.

Decision made. Mind-numbing sex. That fixes everything.

I’m just about to text Raquel back when my phone rings. I look down to see her name. Well, can’t get much easier than that.

Damn, I’m good. All that’s missing is the snap of my fingers

“Hey.” I smirk at Sammy meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I’m naked. I’m wet. And my mouth is ready to suck your cock ’til you’re dry. I sure hope you’re coming home soon because my mouth is kind of empty and, baby, I’d love for you to fill it.”

My dick is already stirring to life, balls tightening. The need to come front and center. What red-blooded male wouldn’t be with that greeting? Shit.

“Fuck, baby, that sounds like Heaven … but I need to take a rain check.” My own words shock me.
What the fuck are you doing, Donavan? What is wrong with you?
I hear myself yelling, my dick begging, but my mouth has a mind of its own.

“What?” Her voice is soft, disappointment evident.

“I’m sorry. My mom needs me to stay here and wrap up some of the charity shit for her. I’ll make it up to you, though. I was invited to some launch party for the new sponsor, Merit Rum. It’d be good exposure for you—media and big wigs and shit, okay? You know I wouldn’t pass up the chance to fuck you unless it was unavoidable.”

I just used my mother to get out of fucking Raquel. There is something extremely pathetic about my state of mind right now. Is the Apocalypse coming? Is Hell freezing over?

What. The. Fuck?

She accepts reluctantly, I apologize again, lie about being busy, and end the call. Sammy catches my eyes and just raises his eyebrows. “I take it I should drive to Broadbeach instead, now?”

I scrub a hand through my hair and sigh. “Yeah.” I shake my head trying to figure out what in the fuck I just did. “Sammy, did I just pass up pussy?”

“Yep. Sounded like it. You feeling okay? Dick still attached? It didn’t fall off with all of the hobnobbing at the event?”

Fucking Sammy. Dude’s funny as hell. I grab my dick and adjust it. “Still there, Sam. Still there.” My voice trails off as my thoughts wander.

Rylee Thomas
. It’s gotta be because of her. How could three fucking hours of defiance make me look at wet and willing and think it’s too damn easy? That working for a piece of ass might be fun for a change.

It’s her fucking fault I’m headed home to my hand and some lube. And even I know it’s fucked up so I start to tell Sammy to head to the Palisades but nothing comes out of my mouth. Because as hot at as Raquel is and as good as she can ride me, my interest is elsewhere.

Back at the benefit. With curves and class and holy fuck that ass of hers. And that’s just scratching the surface of everything I plan on touching.

My phone rings again and I’m immediately irritated. Raquel needs to drop it and leave me the hell alone. “What?” I bark the word into the phone, Sammy’s shoulders moving as he laughs at my self-inflicted misery.

“Wow. Someone needs to get laid. Relieve stress and shit.” Shit. Guess I should have looked at the screen. I was so lost in what I can’t have right now that I assumed it was Raquel and not Becks.

“Sorry,” I tell him. “I thought you were Raquel.”

“Damn, dude.” He laughs. “I guess she’s holding out on you tonight by the pissiness in your tone. She make other plans or something besides being at your beck and call?”

Fucker
. I grunt out a laugh. “Hardly. Just not on the menu tonight.”

Becks chokes out a cough on the other end of the line.
Fuck
, I just left him an open door to walk right through. “Well considering your menu is usually pussy pie, I guess you’re looking for a new diner to eat it out of besides Raquel.”

The smile is wide on my face but my silence tells him volumes.

“Who’d you meet, Wood?”
I can hear the
here we go again
in his voice and just shake my head because he’s right. “What woman has made you look at Raquel like she’s an inconsequential notch in that belt of yours?”

The only belt notch I’m thinking of is mine coming undone so I can take Rylee beneath me and hear that
oh God
fall from her mouth. My head fills of lace-top thigh-highs, her smart-assed mouth, and violet eyes filled with contempt. Two of the three should turn me off but fuck if it doesn’t make my dick jerk thinking of the whole fucking package.

“Nobody.” I lie to protect myself from the one thing I fear the most.

That Rylee just might be the somebody I told myself I’ll never allow myself to have.

She’s a forever kind of girl and I’m a just for the night kind of guy.

But fuck if it’s not going to be fun to see just how far we’ll each bend to break our own rules.

The Merit Rum launch party. Need I say more? A long-standing request from readers is what was Colton thinking that night? The following is Chapter Eleven from the moment Colton saw Rylee with Surfer Joe snuggling up against her until he asked her that now familiar line: “Decide, Rylee.
Yes. Or. No
.”

There’s something about Colton in the hallway, his inner-monologue that intrigued me. He seems to always be in a constant struggle—denying himself what he wants, rationalizing he can have it but on certain terms, mixed with the side of him wanting to protect Rylee from the hurt he knows he is going to cause. All three pull at your heart strings for certain reasons while at the same time cause you to wear a neck brace to protect you from the whiplash of his emotions and his actions.

Uh-uh. She’s mine, motherfucker.

Over my dead fucking body.

Or most likely
his
if he touches her again.

This club is so packed. So filled with more than willing Grade A pussy.
And sponsorship obligations.
Fucking obligations that have weighed me down like an anchor for the past two hours. Two hours wasted when I could have been with the cause of my shitty mood.

And the source of my current case of raging blue balls.

Sweet Jesus. Dancing with her like that? Pressed against each other from shoulder to knee. Moving in sync. Her body reacting to mine as if she knew each movement I would make before I did. Eyes telling me she’s mine for the taking.

The hint of how we’ll be together when she finally caves to what her body wants but that her mind keeps fighting. I almost came on the spot. Talk about a tease I can’t wait to devour.